


The Knight of the Laughing Tree

by GungnirStar



Series: The Dragon Prince [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Elia Martell Lives, F/F, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow's Name is Jaehaerys, King Rhaegar Targaryen, Minor Arya Stark/Aegon Targaryen, Nonbinary Character, Polyamory, Rhaegar Targaryen Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GungnirStar/pseuds/GungnirStar
Summary: Young Sansa Stark requests a mini tourney every year for her name day, but slowly these events grow, and eventually it gets the attention of every marriageable lord and knight in her age group.And some of the girls, too.Enter: Oberyn Martell. Bringing his children to visit, they encounter the solemn Jon Snow, and decide they're keeping him.The royal family are soon to follow.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark, Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Series: The Dragon Prince [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032714
Comments: 15
Kudos: 96





	The Knight of the Laughing Tree

The north was a cold, lonely place for a boy such as Jon. 

He had no mother, he had his father, and was called Bastard by all but his father. And little Arya, of course. Robb was friendly enough, the similarities between them was often compared to their father and father’s older brother. 

Robb was the gallant, friendly knight. He was the heir to winterfell, and the girls all loved him. Jon was quiet, thoughtful, and not interested in bold acts of showmanship. He was not recognised as any great swordsman, despite being every bit as skilled as Robb. He didn’t get embroidered favours from Sansa when they had mini tourneys for her name day, as she requested every year. 

Every year, sons from northern houses would come and compete in shows of skill, just like at the great tourneys, just without all the potential bloodshed. Their father had been uneasy about the idea at first, but her mother had been very firm that it was a good way to show northern unity. 

As Sansa became older, and closer to a marriageable age, sons from began to come further afield. Every year, she was named the queen of love and beauty, as is expected, and she would preen over the attention. 

By now, Sansa was coming to three and ten, and her birthday tourney this year was busier than ever. Jon was never brought out to meet with the guests, but was welcome to fight in the tourney, as was expected by his father. 

The grounds outside of Winterfell were filled with tents, of the houses Jon recognised, he saw the Freys, sending the sons of Genna Lannister and Emmon Frey, as these would be the best of the Frey brood to be offered to Sansa. Robb had remarked that Red Walder looked like a weasels imitation of a lion, which had made Jon snort into his breakfast, just that morning.

He recognised the Tyrell roses, and the small entourage sent, Lady Margaery and her beautiful brother Loras, and the eldest son, Willas. Willas couldn’t battle, but he was as good a representative as could come, and Robb had told Jon that Willas had brought Sansa a beautiful Southron dog, a small little thing that slept in laps and would be ideal for sitting in embroidery rooms. Which simply made them both laugh, because Lady was just as much an ideal companion as some little dog. 

He recognised the sun and spear of house Martell, which did make him raise his eyebrows somewhat. They had an odd assortment of knights, including a young boy- no, girl? Who was wielding the most incredible bow he had ever seen. It was a golden wood with a sheen that he had never seen. As Jon stepped closer, he noticed that there were seven girls in total, all around this Martell camp, wearing thicker layers than most other southerners. And one boy with blue hair, which was...unusual. Two men, and one woman sat close to the fire. 

“Come closer boy, we won’t hurt you.” Called the darker man, which made Jon jolt, and look around before swallowing and approaching. 

“Yes, my lord?” He bowed low, before clasping his hands behind his back. 

“Do you know who we are?” The man asked him, curiosity glittering in his deep eyes. Jon nodded quickly, despite only knowing the house family. 

“You are the guests of Lord Stark, visiting from the noble house of Dorne, the Martells.” He said, hoping for a good response to his statement. Which he received, in the form of the man nodding. 

“Yes, very good answer. I am Oberyn Martell, this is the love of my life, Ellaria Sand, and my seven children. I would say seven daughters, but Sphinx over there is neither a boy nor a girl. Some days I am allowed to call them Sarella, but most days we go with Sphinx.” He chuckled. “My seven bastards, Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, Sphinx, Elia, Obella, Dorea, and little Loreza. We call them the sand snakes, to make it easier and more neutral.” Each child waved when mentioned, and Jon nodded, before his eyes settled on the blue haired boy once more. 

“And is this boy Ellaria’s son, or perhaps your knight friend’s son?” He asked, which had the red haired man coughing on his drink. 

“You don’t miss anything, do you boy?” Oberyn laughed, clapping his hands twice. The blue haired boy set down his book, and came to stand beside the three adults. “This is young Griff, also of house Martell.” 

Jon bowed to the boy, before offering a friendly enough forced smile, which was far less rare than the rare real smile, when it crossed his somber face. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, and your family, Lord Martell- Prince Oberyn.” Jon glanced around at the seven Sands once more. It was tricky, learning the proper way to speak to people who were far more important than he was.

“And who are you, boy? You have a noble way about you, yet I did not see you with any of the northern families when you arrived. And of course, your eyes are most striking.” 

Jon’s face flushed at the comment, normally one to avoid discussion of his eyes, which his father’s wife often sneered at for being that of the Dayne girl’s. 

“I am Jon snow, my lord. Son of Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne.” He mumbled. “My mother died when I was born, and my father raised me here, because my mother’s family hadn’t the wish to raise a bastard.”

“Jon Snow? Well, if anything you’re a Sand, just like my little snakes. As a sand, you’re always welcome in this camp. We care not for legitimacy, because it makes no difference to your merit as a man. Tell us, are you competing in the tourney? It would do young Griff here some good to fight against another man, since he’s outnumbered by my girls. Sphinx is the best archer, of course, so he has no chance against them.” Oberyn stood now, coming to place a hand on Jon’s shoulder, the boy looking up at him with a slight flush to his cheeks. 

He’d never had such attention before, not from a complete stranger, and certainly not a prince. 

“My friend here can lend you a sword, before you say no. One Jon to another, eh?” Oberyn held his hand out to the red headed man, who sighed a long suffering sigh, and unsheathed his sword, passing it to Oberyn, who in turn offered it to Jon. 

Jon knew it would reflect badly on his father to say no, so accepted the sword with another bow. 

“Thank you, Prince Oberyn.” He forced out, before looking at his opponent. The sand snakes cleared a space, a square enough for the two boys to fight. 

Griff unsheathed his own sword, which had an ornate handle, and was surprisingly slender. Perhaps a sword just for a youth, to train with until he was older. Or maybe it was a Dornish thing. Either way, Jon let the sword he’d been lent swing in his hands a few time, getting used to the weight, and the griffon on the handle. He then waited, and waited. 

Griff circled him slowly, and Jon was patient, only moving when the blue haired boy struck first. Jon moved quickly, nimble thanks to his small frame. He met blow for blow with the other, his dark eyes never straying from the other’s light eyes. Purple against violet. Most people assumed his eyes were black, from how dark they were, but they were violet nonetheless. His father said it was from Ashara’s bloodline. 

Soon, other people came to watch the mock battle, the way the two boys fought was an even match. When Oberyn clapped his hands, the two boys separated to catch their breaths. 

Jon glanced around, and his eyes met Robb’s, his brother grinning. Then, his eyes fell on Arya, who was staring up at the sand snakes with a reverence he hadn’t thought possible. Then, finally, his eyes fell on his father. 

Father didn’t show any emotion on his face, but nodded all the same. Jon felt a warmth burning in his chest, and took a deep breath. He loved wielding a sword, and he loved to prove he was more than just a bastard. 

When their bout commenced once more, it was clear that Jon had the upper hand. Griff was faltering, and kept expecting someone to help him, glancing at the sand snakes expectantly, eventually looking to the red headed man, and Prince Oberyn. Ellaria seemed amused, but Jon only cared about one thing. 

Knocking the other boy to the floor. 

Finally, finally, he had an opening, and feinted right before sweeping the boy’s legs out. 

Griff hit the ground with a thud, with Jon’s sword against his chest.

“Do you yield, ser?” He asked, a small smile on his face.

The other boy was surprised, but nodded. “Yes. Yes I yield.” He panted. Jon pulled the sword away, offering it back to its red headed owner, the other Jon. He then offered a hand to his fallen opponent, and helped the boy up to his feet. 

The crowd clapped, and Jon’s face heated up. He’d never been praised before. Not like this. Oberyn took Jon’s hand in his own, raising it up in the air. The cheers grew louder, and then he let Jon’s hand go, clapping along with the other Dornish entourage. Even Griff was clapping, and he couldn’t help but smile. 

Father, even father, was smiling, one of his rare, proud smiles just for Jon. 

Once the crowds vanished, it left only his father, Robb, and Arya. Of course, Arya was chatting to the sand snakes eagerly, doing her best to befriend the ones she saw wielding weapons. 

Robb patted him on the shoulder, grinning ear to ear.

“Very good, brother! You’ve shown that the North is the best.” He boasted, before pulling him in for a hug. Jon laughed, squeezing his half brother all the same. His father was greeting Oberyn, not hostile, nor friendly. He was never either, with outsiders. Only very specific people evoked his ire. 

Like when his father looked at the red headed man, there was a hint of anger behind his cold eyes. But it was hard to tell, unless you truly knew him. 

“You know, I was good friends with the Sword of the Morning. You don’t fight like your uncle at all.” 

Finally, the red headed man addressed Jon directly. When he stood, Jon realised he was a member of the kingsguard, his white cloak having not been visible while he sat, due to the red furs covering him. Jon’s eyes flickered to his father quickly, shock running through his stomach.

“He fights like I do. Because I trained him. Arthur didn’t. It’s been some time since you’ve faced me, Lord Connington.” His father replied, his usually calm tone was clipped and icy. 

“No, he doesn’t. It hasn’t been so long that I don’t know exactly how you fight. He fights like...Like the knight of the laughing tree. And another.” Lord Connington replied, sheathing his sword. 

“Come, Jon. You need to be cleaned up before dinner. I am very proud, you fought with honour and kindness.” His father gave no more attention to the kingsguard, and Jon cast an apologetic look at the man, and at the blue haired Griff. 

He bowed once more to Oberyn Martell, who placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hold for a moment, I have a gift for you.” He insisted, while his father looked uneasy. Oberyn headed into his tent, and came out with a small dagger. “Winning deserves a small prize. This is a fine dagger, valyrian steel.” 

“I-I couldn’t take that, I’m just a bast-” 

“Do not tell me you are just a bastard. I give all my bastards the finest things, take it. I’m not offering, I am telling you.” Oberyn insisted, and Jon nodded after a moment, tucking the dagger into his belt. 

The walk back to the castle was filled with Arya’s chatter, her excitement at Obara’s very existence. Jon just smiled, and nodded, answering her questions when he could. 

At dinner, that night, they had the lords and ladies of the many fine houses in the hall, and Jon asked his father if he could sit with the Martells, wanting to get to know more about Dorne, since that was half of his heritage. But his father had flatly denied him, and he was sat with Arya, Alys Karstark, and two of the Mormont girls. Arya had insisted that the Mormont girls meet the sand snakes, and could already see Jorelle looking over at Obara and Nymeria Sand with curiosity. 

“And then Jon raised his arm- WOOSH and knocked that blue haired lily to the floor!” Arya exclaimed, retelling the story for the seventh time. Each time, more dramatic, and more disparaging to Griff. He noticed that Griff was absent from the Martell table, but kept his head down. He knew his father wanted him to blend in with the other northerners, which was why he was sat with the Mormonts and Alys. 

“And did you know that one of them is called Nymeria? Like my Nymeria! I bet she’s an amazing fighter, I bet she could teach me. Jon, do you think she could teach me? I could borrow your dagger and we could learn together!” Arya pleaded, tugging on his arm. 

Jon just laughed, wrapping an arm around her and shaking her lightly.

“Aren’t you tired yet, Arya? You’ve been awake all day, and had a lot of excitement.” He teased, before she let out a long suffering sigh of her own.

“You just think I’m too young to have fun.” She muttered, before glancing over to where Sansa sat, in her fancy new gown with all attention on her. Arya went to grab her spoon, wanting to flick food over at her, when Griff sat down at their table beside Jon, and she instantly was distracted, on account of him sitting in her sightline. 

“Mind if I sit?” He asked her, a friendly smile on his face. Arya’s eyes lit up at the other swordfighter, and she nodded. “Yes, sit here so you can tell everyone about your fight with Jon earlier!”

“I wouldn’t say it was a fight, because there weren't any hard feelings between us. It was just a practice, because he and I are both very skilled warriors. I’d like to practice with him more often.” Griff explained, smiling as he did so. Arya frowned, looking back to Jon.

“So you don’t want to bash him on the head with a shield? I would, if someone beat me in a fight.” 

“No, I don’t want to bash him on the head with a shield. Jon is very capable, and it means that I’ll have someone better than me to practice with.” Griff explained, flashing him a smile. Jon smiled in return, and Arya huffed. 

“Stupid boys. What about you, Jory?” The petulant girl turned her attention to the Mormont girls beside her.

Jon rolled his eyes, giving his attention entirely to Griff. 

“What are sisters like?” He joked, hoping to get a better idea of who exactly he was. He was linked to Oberyn Martell at least. But how? There was something in the set of his brow that seemed familiar. 

“Oh, my only sister is older than I am. She’s too clever for her own good. Rae likes to play cyvasse all day and night, if you’d let her. But she trained with a spear, too. Uncle Oberyn insisted.”

“Oberyn is your uncle?” Jon asked, slowly gleaning information. 

“Oh, yes. He’s my uncle. I’m Dornish, he’s Dornish. My father isn’t though.” He explained. 

“Your father...Jon Connington?” Jon asked, eyes running across the room, noting the absence of the knight. 

“No, the kingsguard aren’t allowed to take wives. Didn’t you know that?” Griff raised a brow, causing Jon to feel a little embarrassed. 

“No. We don’t talk about the south much. We learn about the north, and the greater houses, or houses that are often around here. The Freys have been coming since the second time Sansa asked for her mini tourney. They’ve been trying to convince my father she should marry into their family.” 

“Damn the Freys, they’re upstarts anyway. She’d do better in a great house, a real house of note. Like the Tyrells, or even the Martells.” Griff scoffed. 

“I think my father wants her to marry for love, if I’m honest…” Jon admitted sheepishly. “He said that because his sister wanted the same, Sansa should be afforded the dignity.”

“Lyanna?” 

Jon was quiet for a long moment. Nobody ever mentioned her. Nobody talked about her.

“Yes. She...She apparently loved Rhaegar _and_ Elia and ran away to Dorne with the help of the royal couple.” He spoke slowly, uncertain of his own words. He looked up at Griff, knowing the other would see his stormy eyes, hoping the topic would be dropped.

“There’s a statue of her in the royal gardens in Kings landing.” Griff’s voice was soft, uncertainty in his own voice now. Like he didn’t know if he should be telling Jon this. “She looks like you and your sister. I can see it in your faces. It’s the same shape, long and thoughtful.” 

“Everyone says Arya looks like her. I think Arya looks like our father, since she and I look alike.” 

“You don’t look very Dornish, Jon.” 

Jon fell silent now, like a thundercloud rolled over him. He never knew his mother. He never had the chance. This boy had the chance to know both of his parents, had the chance to be Dornish, and whatever else he was. 

“Excuse me.” Jon forced out, leaving the table quickly, hurrying from the hall. He ignored Arya calling after him, ignored his father’s troubled face, and Oberyn’s curious eyes following his steps. 

Jon left the castle entirely, quick enough to go without being stopped by anyone. He found his way to the godswood, kneeling before the weirwood. 

He stopped though, seeing the familiar red hair of Jon Connington. Jon Connington, not alone either. 

There was a man praying by the tree, under its red leaves. As he turned to leave, he tripped, his haste making him miss the familiar tree root that normally he’d miss. 

Both men startled when they heard him fall, and Jon quickly scrambled to his feet. 

“P-pardon me, sers. I didn’t know you would be here.” He quickly apologised, bowing low. He looked up, the black clothes worn by the man who had been praying suggested...perhaps he was with the nights watch? The contrast between the white cloak and black cloak was stark against the red leaves and white bark. 

“This is Jon Snow.” Jon Connington explained quickly, and the man stepped closer, a thick, fur lined hood covering most of his hair, leaving only his face visible. 

“Jon Snow? Who is your father, young Snow?” The man asked, and Jon felt something alike panic in his stomach. Was this Griff’s father? He looked very similar to the boy. Something about him was the same. 

“My father is Eddard Stark, and my mother is Ashara Dayne. My lord.” He quickly replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the man’s boots.

“Ashara Dayne? She had a girl child. Not a boy.” The man told him, the frown almost audible in his voice. “Who are you?” 

“I’m a bastard, my lord. Nobody.” He insisted. 

“Well...If you’re a nobody, would you like to do something for me?” The man asked, and his eyes flicked up once more.

“What is it?” 

“Would you like to compete as my champion in the tourney? I can find some armour for you, if you’d like to. As the Knight of the Laughing tree.” 

“I...You are too kind, ser. But I don’t know…”

“It can be our three’s secret. I hear you beat young Griff earlier, which is by no means a small feat.

Jon thought for a long moment, but the earnest expression on the man’s face, the hope, and excitement pushed him. Maybe, maybe this would be his chance to be acknowledged as more than a bastard. Maybe a great Lord would take him on as a guard, or a famous Knight would want him as a squire, if he won.

“I...it would be my honour, my lord. What should I call you?”

“Call me Lord Azhai. And you will be my beneficiary. Lord Connington, will you take him to get some armour?” Borrow some, I’ll get the shield, and a sword for you. I’ll have them sent to you by a servant tomorrow morning. I hope to see you in action myself.” 

Jon nodded, and offered Lord Azhai a small smile, and received a wider one in return. 

  
  


In the morning, Jon snuck out from the castle once he’d received the strange shield with the laughing weirwood, and a black hilted sword, with red glass in the handle. He met with Jon Connington, and put on the mish-mash of armour, some borrowed from Oberyn, so he would be able to be nimble, some from Jon Connington’s own spares, and some that were black as night. He looked odd, but he felt like a true knight. 

He entered, and his first fight was with one of the Frey weasels, who he beat soundly. Next, a young Lannister boy, who he thrashed with as much ease. Cousins, he thought, seeing their equally dejected expressions. 

The day continued, victory after victory, until he was up against Robb. 

The young wolf. As he stood, waiting, he saw Arya wiping tears from her face, Jeyne looking incredibly smug next to Sansa. No doubt more bullying. 

He would win, and crown his little sister the queen of love and beauty. She deserved to win, just once. 

He knew how Robb fought, and Ser Connington had told him that Robb leaves his right flank open too often. That would be how he won this. In this moment, he was so glad that no knight could compete that was older than six and ten, or else they’d both be beaten. 

He was ready to keep going, he was going to do this for Arya. A hush fell over the spectators as the two “knights” faced off against one another. 

They were of similar size and skill, that much was clear. Griff was watching from the sidelines, eyes wide. 

Jon and Robb met blow for blow, Robb the smarter fighter, but Jon the quicker. Eventually, Jon saw his opening, and struck, knocking Robb down, sword to his throat. 

“Yield?” He called, trying to make his voice sound more booming. 

“Yes, yes I yield.” Robb huffed, knocking the sword away from him, ignoring the offered hand to climb to his feet. 

He saw his father call that the mystery knight was the winner, and Griff cheered the loudest, he was sure. He saw Ser Connington cheer too, but there was no time for that. He needed to get ready for the archery. He was up against Sphinx, and Robb, and Theon. Those were the people he needed to worry about. 

Jon sat in the tent he’d been lent, and grinned. Nobody knew it was him, and he was winning!

A small noise caught his attention, in time to see Arya wriggling under the canvas and into his tent.

“I knew it was you! You’re amazing! You beat Robb, like I knew you could! You’re the best mystery knight ever!” She whispered, throwing herself at him to hug him. Jon returned the hug as carefully as he could in the armour, pressing a kiss to the top of his little sister’s head. 

“This one’s going to be hard. I’m not as good at archery, everyone knows you’re the best archer in the family, Arya.” Jon teased, before messing her hair up.

  
  


“Well my secret is to breathe out as I let go. And to pray to all the old gods that I win.” She grinned, before a sheepish look crossed her face. “I made you a little token. So you win for me.” She mumbled, before thrusting the messily embroidered white wolf at him. He smiled, taking it from her.

“It’s perfect. I’ll gladly take it with me, and we’ll win together, your luck with my skill.” He promised, before they both heard footsteps approaching. “Go, go.” He urged, but she stood still, hands on her hips. 

“No, I’m your squire and I’ll send away whoever’s out there.” She insisted, tilting her head up proudly as Lord Azhai entered the tent. 

He stood still for a long moment, eyes wide as he looked at Arya. 

“My Lord this is my little sister. Arya.” Jon stood, quickly placing a hand on her shoulder. “She’s come to give me her support, so I’ll win for her.” He explained, hoping his benefactor wouldn’t mind too much.

“Arya. You look so much like your aunt.” Lord Azhai whispered, reaching out a hand before pulling his hand back. “Jon, your prize money so far is impressive. How would you like it spent?” 

“I...I get to keep it?” He asked, bewildered. 

“Of course, I have no need for it. You’ve earnt it, you’re fighting well and nobly.” The lord explained. 

“Then...I’ll get a sword made especially for Arya. Since she wants to be my squire.” Jon decided, feeling Arya perk up beside him. 

“Your squire? Well, I’m sure she’s a ferocious fighter, she is a Stark girl after all.” Lord Azhai chuckled.

“I’m the best fighter in my family. Sansa is too busy with her stupid friends talking about stupid boys and stupid embroidery. I want to be the best lady knight ever. I want to win my own tourneys one day, and crown my mother the queen of love and beauty! Then she won’t think I’m a bad Lady, because I’ll be a very good Knight!” Arya explained, her hands waving as she spoke. The Lord just smiled, kneeling down to be at eye level with her.

“Well, when you do, come to Kings landing, because there’s a lady Knight in the queensguard. I’m sure she’d love to take you on as a squire.” He told her kindly, before an unknown emotion passed behind his purple eyes. “And then you can thoroughly beat my son Griff too! Just like Jon did yesterday.” 

“Oh! I was there and I saw it all!” Arya explained, eyes lighting up with excitement. 

“Well, why don’t you tell me all about it while we watch Jon in the archery?” He offered, bowing low. “Young ser Stark.” He added, with a grin. “Jon, you should go and get ready. You’ll have a hard time against Sand. Oberyn wants his prodigies to win as much as he can. You’ll have a hard time against El in the horse racing, so I’ve had a horse sent to the stables for you to ride that might even the playing field.” 

Jon nodded, thanking the Lord for his help, before shooting Arya a small glance. “I’ll see you after, little sister. I’ll remember your trick. Breathe in and out like you said.”

  
  
  


The archery was somewhat more complicated, as he couldn’t very well shoot in full armour, so he donned leathers, and a tunic lent to him by Oberyn, one of Griff’s, and went to the range. So far he wasn’t too worried. It was only once the weaker shooters were removed from the rankings that he was concerned. 

When he stood in his position, he looked back, the crowd unusually quiet. 

Sansa’s expression was beyond delighted. To her left sat an unfamiliar Dornish woman, in black and red. The Queen was here? His heart was in his throat, he couldn’t understand it at all. Arya was standing with his Lord near the corner, with the best view of Jon. She gave him a thumbs up, and he returned it with a little nod.

The first three volleys successfully removed at least two thirds of the competitors. Leaving himself, Sphinx, Griff, Robb, Jorelle Mormont, and Theon. 

Sphinx was utterly calm, their hair tied back in a tight bun as they closed their eyes, breathing evenly, before opening their eyes and hitting the target in the dead centre. Theon hit just left of centre, while rob hit even further out. Jorelle hit the edge of the target, thanks to a muttered comment from Theon as she fired. Now it was his turn. He closed his eyes, mimicking Sphinx for a moment before he looked across to Arya whose expression was now intensely focused. He thought of the token he wore from her, and the eager expression on Lord Azhai’s face. And he fired. His arrow in the centre. 

Now he and Sphinx were neck and neck. 

Griff grinned, looking back at the crowd, waving to Sansa, before firing. 

And missing completely. 

He didn’t look at all surprised, nor did Sphinx. Robb was confused, and when Jon looked to Lord Azhai and Arya, the lord was laughing. Arya just looked irritated. He could practically hear her asking why it was so funny. 

Now it was between himself, Sphinx, and Theon. He fired, almost hitting dead centre again. 

Theon snorted, lining up the shot. 

“I bet you can’t even hit the target with women, let alone the arrow.” He heard Sphinx hiss, and Theon’s aim faltered just as his arrow was released. 

It hit the bottom of the target. 

Arya crowed with delight, and Griff laughed, patting Sphinx on the shoulder. They looked at Jon, and Jon nodded back to them, his helm covering all but his eyes. 

They lined up the shot, and Jon knew it was over for him. They were the best archer he’d ever seen. 

They fired, and their arrow was far enough from the centre that meant Jon won.

He was shocked, looking to them and Griff. 

Sphinx offered him a small thumbs up, before putting an arm around Griff’s shoulders. The two Dornishmen patted his shoulders, and raised his hands up in the air, marking that they accepted his win. Theon was swearing under his breath, being guided away by Robb. 

He looked to where the Queen was, her hand covering her mouth. Sansa was clapping furiously, excited that a mystery Knight would be competing, thinking he’d win for her. 

He returned to his tent, and removed his armour, being greeted with a tackled hug by Arya. 

Griff, too, was waiting for him with Sphinx and Lord Azhai. 

“You’re doing incredibly! Sphinx and I agreed you deserve to win, so we cheated a little.” Griff confessed. “I felt bad for what happened last night, I shouldn’t have said that to you. If you really are Ashara’s son, then we’re basically family.” He insisted, and Jon smiled hesitantly. Sphinx shrugged.

“My father said he’d buy me a new steed if I lost, as a good alternative to winning the glory. One of Willas Tyrell’s. So I intentionally lost. A horse that fine would be much better than a bit of glory at a northern tourney.” They explained, waving a hand dismissively. 

“You’re making your father proud.” Lord Azhai murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“If you would, for the horse race I want you to ride wearing my cloak. Since you can’t wear the armour, or you’ll surely lose.” 

Griff opened his mouth, but was silenced with a hand. 

“Please, you’re allowed to dye your hair however you like, and you’ll be riding with your mother’s cloak anyway. Let me have this. For her.” Lord Azhai continued, fixing his son with a firm stare. The other boy pouted, but nodded all the same. 

“The race will be tomorrow, my Lord. Will you be at the dinner tonight?” Jon asked, Arya helping remove his bracers. 

“I...I have to speak with lord Stark first. I saw you noticed Her Grace, Elia Martell. Queen of Westeros. She wants to go to Lyanna’s grave, I think you should meet her there. She has something she wants to give you. The first Knight of the Laughing Tree wanted to crown her as the queen of love and beauty.” Lord Azhai said, before dismissing himself. Griff followed after him quickly, and then Sphinx shrugged, leaving in the direction of the Sand camp. 

Jon frowned, but Arya tugged his arm. “Come on! You stink, you need to wash up if you’re gonna meet the _queen_ idiot!” 

  
  


So he did, he washed up, and hurried to the crypts. He was quiet, and nobody ever paid him any mind. 

  
  


He was in the shadows, heading towards where the Queen stood, when his father descended into the crypts, cold, stormy look on his face. He approached, and knelt before the queen.

“Your Grace.” He murmured, before standing.

“Is it true, Lord Stark?” She asked softly, her voice like a faint bell ringing. 

“Your Grace...Your husband is insisting I tell you, not him. You loved Lyanna. I know. You loved her as much as you love your husband. So….So I will be honest with you. For her.”

He saw his father look at her, and sigh. 

“Yes. It is. He is. You have to understand, your Grace. She...She wanted him to be raised here. When I spoke to your husband, the king, and told him Lyanna died, and there was no Visenya...He broke down. He sent me away before I could finish telling him.”

Jon could see the Queen’s expression fall into pain, but nodded, placing a hand on his cheek gently. 

“You loved Ashara. And she loved you. Her loss...I understood it all too well. Before I had Rhaenys I too had a stillbirth. The real Visenya, I think. It wasn’t to be.” She murmured, before wiping tears from her cheeks. “Thank you, Lord Stark. From what I know, you’ve done well by her.” 

  
  


Jon had more questions than answers now, but just stood and listened. Eventually, his father left, leaving the Queen alone.

“You shouldn’t hide in the shadows any more, come here.” She called to him, and Jon startled, before stepping out of the darkness to her.

“Y-your Grace. I was told you wanted to speak to me?” He asked, before bowing lower than he had to any of these new guests. 

“Please, don’t bow to me. I’m no more important than anyone.” She insisted, before taking his hand. “I knew your mother. And I know your father. You aren’t a Snow, or a Sand. Tomorrow, when you win against my niece, I want you to remember that. The King will be there, too. He wants you to win, more than anything. He once fought the first Knight of the Laughing Tree. I loved the Knight of the Laughing Tree. So I want to give you a small token. Not that you need call me your Queen of Love and Beauty. You’re not the same Knight as the one of Harrenhall.” She gave him a small necklace, amber carved into the shape of a sun. Etched faintly was a wolf, and the backing was dragon glass. 

Jon knew this was something important, and the most expensive thing he had ever seen. 

“May I?” She asked, and Jon nodded, not knowing what she was asking. 

She took the necklace back before carefully slipping it over his neck, looking at the boy with a warmth in her eyes. 

“You look every bit the same knight, like this. Go, make your father proud tomorrow.” She urged, before squeezing his hand gently. 

“Thank you, your Grace.” He could feel tears pricking in his eyes. 

All his life, he’d been the bastard, unimportant, unwanted, overlooked. To these southerners, he was someone. He was important, wanted, and valued. 

“Elia. Please. Just call me Elia.” She replied. 

Jon fled the crypts. He was going to leave with them, if his father let him. He would go south and find out about his mother, find her if she was alive. 

When he entered his rooms, he found a fine tunic and doublet waiting for him. They were silver and black, with red buttons on the front, and on the sleeves. Jon smiled, and dressed. His father must have left this for him. 

He met Arya in the hall, forced into a beautiful dress that she looked wholly unhappy about, and Sansa in an even more fine gown. 

  
  


“The Queen said that I should come to the south, and be in her court! She said that I was a fine northern rose, and would flourish into a golden one if she had the chance.” Sansa explained to Jeyne, who nodded eagerly. 

“Well...Well one of the Lords told me that the Queen has a Lady Knight, who would teach me how to be a knight too!” Arya piped up, before Jeyne scoffed.

“Oh yes, she’d have use for you. If she needed a horse! Horseface.” Jeyne sneered, Arya’s face turning red with rage. 

Jon stepped forward, placing a hand on Arya’s shoulder before she could throw herself at the Poole girl. As he opened his mouth to speak, another voice cut over the group.

“I think she’s very pretty for a girl of one and ten, and when she’s older she’ll be more beautiful than you.” Griff snarked.

But when they turned, the familiar blue hair was missing, his hair now a white, curled from drying in the air after his bath. 

Sansa and Jeyne both went red, eyes wide. Arya frowned. 

“What happened to your hair?” She asked, looking up at him. He laughed, patting her shoulder. 

“My mother asked me to wash the dye out.” He explained. “Because I have to look like a prince for once.” 

“A prince?” Jon asked, brows furrowing.

“I may have lied to you, Jon. I’m not Griff at all. I’m Aegon Targaryen.” He admitted sheepishly. Jon took a step back, trying to slink back into the shadows. He wasn’t supposed to be seen with nobility when Sansa was around, because she would report back to her Lady mother. 

“He doesn’t forgive you...You-you egg! You shouldn’t tell lies like that!” Arya stamped her foot, brows furrowed as she stared him down. Egg was clearly the only insult she could think of, relating to his name. 

Aegon laughed, before raising his hands. 

“Well, forgive me for letting Jon not know who I was, so he would beat me in everything else.” Aegon replied, before glancing over at Jon. 

“Oh good, you’ve got the doublet on. My mother insisted I lend you one of mine, because you don’t have enough fine things. We’re about the same size, so I’m sure it’ll be fine for the evening.” 

The four of them were interrupted by Lady Stark herself, sweeping into the room, eyes full of fury.

“You should not be here.” She pointed to Jon, snapping at him as she always did. “You are shaming your father by talking to the prince. Forgive the bastard, your highness, he forgets himself.” She quickly said, curtseying to Aegon. 

Arya scowled, and Sansa tilted her head up, haughty as ever. Jon’s cheeks burned, and he took a small step back. 

“Oh, no. I want him here.” Aegon replied, waving her concerns away. “He’s my friend, actually. In Dorne, being a bastard doesn’t matter. Not that it’s your concern, anyway, Lady Stark.” 

“I...Forgive me, your highness, I didn’t realise you had befriended the boy.” Jon felt a thrill of delight, knowing that his main tormentor was being embarrassed for once. 

“He has a name, you know.” Aegon’s voice was sharp now. “It’s J-” 

“Aegon. Stand up straight, dear. You know your father doesn’t like you to slouch.” Came Elia’s voice. 

Aegon stood still, before turning and smiling. “Mother. I was just letting Lady Stark know that she ought not to send Jon away. He’s _our_ guest tonight, isn’t he?” The prince smiled, pretending he hadn’t been being rude. 

“Yes, you’re right. But apologise to Lady Stark all the same, my sweetling. It’s bad manners to speak dismissively to our hosts.” Elia replied, taking her son’s arm in her own. Sansa and Jeyne had both dropped into curtseys, as had Lady Stark. 

“Forgive me, Lady Stark, I did not mean to speak out of turn. I was simply defending the honour and feelings of your youngest daughter, and of my dear friend. Targaryen blood runs hot, as does Dornish, and I forget my manners.” He bowed, before shooting Arya a cheeky wink. She snorted, before Catelyn shot her a look, and Arya quickly fumbled into a bow, then a curtsey. Manners were never her strong point. 

“I assure you, no offense was taken. I understand,your highness.” Catelyn quickly insisted. 

Elia then looked to Jon, and gave him a pointed look. He hurried to her other side, taking her arm as Griff had. Prince Aegon, he mentally corrected himself. 

They entered together, sitting at the head table, with Elia in the very centre, Jon on her left, Aegon at her right. Sansa, sitting next to Aegon had forgotten his tone when she considered that she was sat next to a silver prince. 

Jon had never seen so many people look at him, in princely garb, next to the queen.

His father sat beside him, and was silent. Lady Stark was beside his father, her eyes full of a silent fury. 

They ate, and for a time it was quiet. His father didn’t speak, but Elia talked to him, and only him until most of the food had been eaten. Aegon spoke with Sansa at great length, pausing only to make funny faces at Arya when Sansa wasn’t looking. 

Once the food was done, Lady Stark excused herself. His father finally looked at him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you this before you were put up here. I...I am not your father. I’m your uncle. Elia is your mother’s wife. They did love each other, and she already is fond of you, because you are greatly like her.” 

Jon was very aware that his father wasn’t looking at him as he spoke, barely contained grief in his voice. 

“Who...Who am I? Who is my mother? You always told me you’d tell me one day. But they’ve forced your hand, haven’t they?” Jon tried to keep his face calm, his dark eyes fixed on his plate.

“You are my sister’s son. You’re the son of the king. Little brother to Aegon, and Rhaenys.” Eddard murmured. Jon looked up, eyes meeting Aegon’s across the table, who offered him a small smile. 

“Why isn’t he here to tell me that?” Jon asked quietly, gripping his goblet firmly, lest his hands shake. 

Elia gently placed a hand on his arm, leaning closer to him. “You’ll see him soon enough, little wolf. And then tomorrow, we will tell everyone the truth. And you can come home with us. If you would wish.” 

Jon stood, excusing himself before hurrying away, as soon as he left the main hall he broke into a run, knowing that Aegon wouldn’t be able to follow him, or his father, or anyone else for that matter. He was quicker than they were, and knew the castle better than Aegon.

His feet brought him to the crypt, in front of his mother. Lady Lyanna. Queen Lyanna? He didn’t know. He wanted to know, but he was afraid. 

“Why me?” He whispered, violet eyes gleaming in the candle light. “Why was I left here? You should have let me go to them. They already want me. Already love me...I could have had a mother.” The tears sprang to his eyes, and now more than ever he felt like a silly boy, of only six rather than six and ten. 

With a small sob he sat with his back against her tomb, covering his eyes as the loneliness he’d always felt in the north began to dig into his heart. 

Jon didn’t know how long he sobbed in the silence, lost in his grief. 

It could have been hours, or mere minutes, but he felt a cloak drape over him. 

A man pulled him close, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

“If I’d known you were here, I’d have come for you. If I’d known how sad you were, I’d have come faster.” Came the low, familiar voice of Lord Azhai.

But that wasn’t who he really was, was it?

“You’re my father, aren’t you?” Jon asked softly, not daring to look up, not daring show weakness when he’d been taught his whole life that his weakness was worth mocking. 

“I knew the second I saw you. I knew you were my son. Jon Connington suspected it first, but I knew. You’re my son. You’re no bastard, but a trueborn son. I was married to your mother, as was my darling Elia. We married in the old Valyrian and Dornish traditions, by having two wives with one husband. Your mother first caught my attention because she was the knight of the laughing tree, and she danced with my wife. They loved each other with a passion that only Dorne can understand. And I loved them both with the loyalty and passion of the dragon. And now, you carry the dragons blood in you, my son.” Rhaegar murmured, holding his youngest in his arms for a long moment. 

“Can I go to the capital with you?” Jon asked softly. His fists bunched into the velvet of the cloak. He was almost afraid to ask, but he needed to know if he was welcomed. 

“Yes. Gods, yes. Of course. You needn’t even ask. We’ll have Rhaenys set up a room for you when we return to the red keep. I still want you to ride with my cloak tomorrow, and win knowing you’re the prince. You’re the unexpected prince. When...When Eddard- Lord Stark told me there was no Visenya, I was sure that meant that Lyanna and the babe had died in the birthing bed, but really I should have listened. Jon is no fitting name for you though. You’re a prince.” Rhaegar added. Now he looked up, confusion on his face.

“You can’t call me Viserys, that was your brother’s name.” Jon murmured, brows furrowing. In the darkness of the crypt, he could see the familiarity between himself and Rhaegar. The same eyes, same brow, same mouth. A surge of happiness ran through him. He knew who he was now, why he was here. 

He was alive because of love. Because he had parents who loved him. Not Lord and Lady Stark, with their cold love. No, cold cannot grow a dragon’s heart. 

“No, but I would like to call you something that starts with a J, if you’d be amenable?” Rhaegar- his father, suggested.

Jon nodded after a moment. 

“Jaehaerys. Jon for short. Named for the great Targaryen king, because you’re a great Targaryen prince, and you haven’t even known it.” 

“Jaehaerys...It’ll be a change, but if it means I can live with you…”

“No, you don’t have to earn our love. We’re not like them. We love you because you’re alive. Because you’re you. Only take the name if you want it.” 

“I do want it. I want to feel connected to a family.” He replied, before smiling, seeing the same smile reflected at him.

  
  


The race in the morning had him full of nerves. He wore his weirwood helmet, the Knight of the laughing tree. His dragonglass and amber sun lay against his chest.

And the black Tyrell stallion from his father just made him all the more excited. He wore the cloak, the three headed dragon hidden on the inside for now. When he won, he would turn it over, right after crowning Arya the Queen of Love and Beauty. Then, his father would acknowledge him, and he would be free of Winterfell, of Lady Stark’s cruelty, of Sansa’s cruelty, and Theon’s mockery. 

He looked over at Nymeria Sand, his cousin, and to Aegon, his brother, and grinned beneath the helmet. They would race around winterfell, and the first to come back to the starting point would be the winner. 

He looked over and saw Willas and Oberyn sat together, obviously making their bets on who would win. 

Morghul, the horse named for the dragon bound to Jaehaera Targaryen, was eager to race. As was Jon.

The race was difficult at first, and it looked like Nymeria and Aegon would beat him, but they slowed at the stream. He didn’t need to, though. He knew the easiest way through, and overtook them. He was the first back, Robb’s horse not as fast as the southern ones. 

He slowed to a halt in front of the watchers, and was given a crown of winter roses to give to the Queen of Love and Beauty. Sansa stood, hands clasped together in excitement, as if she were expecting to be a maid in many of those famous tales, but he trotted past her, to little Arya, and tossed the flowers to her. She took them, surprised as she put them on her head. The cheers didn’t go silent, of course, and the little girl stood and waved to everyone in the crowd. 

When he dismounted, he bowed to the Starks, and then to the Royal family. Aegon dismounted, having only just finished the race. He elbowed his brother playfully, and helped reverse his cloak. 

The crowd went silent. Jon removed his helm, tossing it to the ground. 

He looked up at his father, and saw the pride on the man’s face. And his father stood, clapping.

“Jaehaerys Targaryen! Winner of the tourney!” He called out. A murmur ran through the crowd, before Elia stood and applauded him. Aegon took his hand, raising it in the air. 

“Prince Jaehaerys!” Aegon called, and Jon looked around at the gathered crowd. From the shocked Lady Stark, the crying Sansa, the grinning Oberyn, and Willas Tyrell, he knew he’d made quite the impression.

A cheer rose up after that, and tokens from unwed maids were thrown to him. He ignored them all, only looking at his parents. His real parents.

**Author's Note:**

> completely unbeta'd, written in one afternoon. If there's any major inconsistencies, my bad.  
> but hey my first big fic in years, and my first ASOIAF  
> i love the idea of elia falling for lyanna first, and then rhaegar realising and loving them both like a big poly dumb dumb himbo  
> jon having a mother who loves him, even if she's not the one who gave birth to him, she's still his mother legally  
> if people like this enough maybe i'll write a sequel


End file.
